


sunny (yesterday my life was full of grey)

by pinkgrapefruit



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:39:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: Happiness tastes like sherbet lemons.





	sunny (yesterday my life was full of grey)

**Author's Note:**

> in an attempt to cheer y'all up here's some flufffff! thank you to meggie for betaing this, and as usual (although possibly more relevant now) All work is my own. Despite being based on real people, what I write is entirely fictitious. please let me know what you think - enjoy!

Happiness tastes like sherbet lemons. The ones he always used to chew when he wanted to smoke but was trying to quit. The ones he always used to chew when he wanted a kiss but had just smoked. It tastes like sugar and sweetner and that little fizz on your tongue. The fizz that could so easily be put down to the sherbet but really it’s just them. The way the taste sticks to your tongue like a message, that sherbet lemons are good, but Brooke is better.

 

It tastes like honey and menthol cough drops and the way they numb your throat - the relief between the long nights and early morning and that sweet, sweet moment of quiet. The way Brooke doted and fussed when you fell ill, how he made breakfast and fluffed the blankets and called you ‘ _ Nessa _ in that accent. It’s the way you could have ripped his shirt right off him in that second. Warm hugs and back rubs and a reprieve from the outside world. How he bundles into bed when you haven’t left all day and holds you even as your body feels like it’s combusting. How he calms the flames that lick your frame - like a honey and menthol cough drop.

 

Happiness feels like a cool breeze on a hot day, just the right amount of cold to balance the way your palms are sweating as they clasp his hand tight. Just enough to keep you in the moment when you’re so happy you could float away. It’s cold linens on hot bodies, the cooldown after a fit of passion that left you both breathless - entangled in freshly washed sheets watching a documentary that you picked at random because it had puppies in it. When the documentary finishes and he helps you into the shower with cold hands and a warm voice, washed you down like it’s what he was made to do - that’s happiness.

 

It feels like sunrise on a beach, the way the light refracts off the ocean in a way that’s just right. The pastel sky on the pale sea. _ Beautiful  _ \- like him. How Brooke held you close in Tampa as you watched the sunrise over the horizon line, the oranges and the pinks and the reds melding into a watercolour of hues. Vivid, and  _ god _ \- it feels like yesterday. Except it was ten months ago and happiness feels a little different now.

 

It feels more like a pause in a long run, the way your breath heaves, gasping for the oxygen that never comes quickly enough. The sound of footfalls at five a.m. on the pavement outside your house, how the space next to you is empty and he is already gone. He runs to try and fight the anxiety in his head and on the days you join him - you understand. It’s the euphoria as you switch onto autopilot, one foot in front of the other like you were built to. It’s how when you can’t run anymore, he stops with you, ignoring the voices in his head to hold you upright as you cough and sputter - trying to replace the debt in your lungs that is burning, telling you to stop. He encourages you ‘til you reach 3 miles - stopping back outside the flat before he continues on. Lets you in with the keys that he knows you forgot - a quiet  _ ‘José, _ ’ an eye-roll and a wink.

 

It’s the smell of eucalyptus leaves in the garden of your new house - how it seeps through the house overwhelming the senses with a cool, fresh scent. It clings to his shirts when he pegs them up outside and you can smell it on them when you cuddle on the sofa - a minty, pine sort of smell that you grow to associate with  _ him.  _ Overwhelmingly calm.

 

It’s the sound of your cats on the hardwood floors that Brooke told you were too expensive but you love them.the way Henry and Apollo skitter around, skidding when they run too fast. The pitter-patter of tiny feet that makes you almost broody - almost. It’s how they took to you so fast even after Brooke said ‘they don’t like new people ‘Nessa, please don’t be offended’. How Henry brushes up against your legs when you’re drinking coffee at the island, Apollo safely tucked onto your lap as Brooke tries (and fails) to make pancakes. 

 

Add that to the list - the smell of burnt pancakes.

 

It’s DIY on a Saturday, him in his stupid overalls and you with a bandana (which already delayed progress by an hour because Brooke cannot deal with it). You’re removing paint from the open brick fireplace - something you convinced him to do after watching an interior design show because  _ ‘it’ll look so fucking good _ ’ and  _ ‘I ain’t paying someone when I got me a buff man.’ _

 

It’s dancing.

 

Happiness is dancing with Brooke at two a.m. when you’ve both just gotten home from separate gigs. It’s the feeling of the cold wood floors after hours in heels, how he’s holding you up as you struggle through what could be a waltz if you were both a little less tired and had redeemed the ballroom lessons vouched his mom bought you for your birthday - a nod to the romantic in you. It’s soft swaying to ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your head is on his chest and he’s whispering softly into your hair. It’s how he pulls away to restart the record but grabs something from the mantle as he comes to return.

 

He comes to stop a foot or so in front of you and his voice is low and soft, barely reaching over Billie Holiday. It’s quiet and calm and when he gets down on one knee you know it’s coming, you don’t cry - you don’t need to. You don’t shout yes, it’s a whisper that he must have to lip read and the ring feels cold on the warmth of your fingers. The weight of it feels like happiness.

 

Brooke feels like happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! any feedback/comment is welcome, come find me @pink-grapefruit-cafe on tumblr x


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